Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch
by The Key 98.3
Summary: It's Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, and he feels increasingly disconnected from everyone around him. So, he befriends the one person who knows how he feels... possible slash EVENTUALLY! 2 ppl wrote this-LyddieIt & Hairless...just FYI;)
1. Dumbledore's Demise

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CHAPTER ONE

DUMBLEDORE'S DEMISE

A year had passed since Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had caught Harry hiding behind their hydrangea bush so that he could listen to the evening news in peace, and that year had taken its toll on Privet Drive. The hydrangea that had managed, a year ago, to survive despite the heat and lack of water now stood withered, dead. Most everyone's gardens had perished during the long drought. Still, the neighborhood residents had cause for celebration. The drought had recently ended, meaning that hosepipes were again allowed; cars could be washed, lawns could be watered, and children and adults alike could cool themselves off in their yard with the hoses and sprinklers. Harry Potter was one of the few not joining in this activity.

He had black hair, glasses, torn and dirty jeans, a too-large t-shirt that looked old and faded, and trainers whose soles had close to peeled away. His most striking feature (to those in the wizarding world at least), was a thin, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead which he had received when Voldemort tried to kill him after murdering his parents.

At the moment, Harry was lying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, which was where, on the whole, he preferred to be. The Dursleys hated having him around even more than they usually did because their 'Dinky Duddydums' wasn't there. He and his gang had finally gotten caught trying to burn the local high school down, and were sentenced to he didn't know how long in Juvenile Hall. Six months, maybe. Personally (and unsurprisingly), Harry was glad Dudley was gone, though he thought six years a _much _better sentence than six months.

Harry was anxious to leave Privet Drive, and though he was regularly receiving letters from Ron and Hermione, there was no mention of his returning to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. They had told him they were again staying there for the summer. Perhaps they had no intention of bringing him back there; thinking that he was perfectly safe and relatively happy at the Dursleys' house? No, he had assumed that a year ago and he remembered Mrs. Weasley whispering in his ear as she gave him a hug, just before he left for Privet Drive with the Dursleys.

__

'Harry, we'll have you away from there as soon as we can.'

They would come for him, Harry decided. He just had to endure the inevitable wait until they did.

Draco Malfoy scowled at his reflection in the ornately carved, full-length mirror that stood in his bedroom. His bed took up as much space as an ordinary _bedroom_ would, but then, that was to be expected. The bedroom of Draco Malfoy was not ordinary, nor had he ever once wished that it were. Larger than most living rooms, with hundreds of books (most affiliated with dark magic) lining the walls, it gave off a feeling of awe, reverence, and slight fear of the person who spent his nights here. It was on the third floor of the Malfoy Manor, with a balcony from which one could watch the sun rise and set, unless there was fog in the air. There often was, thick, gray, and damp, creeping in through cracks in the doors and windows.

The reason for Draco's frown, other than the fact that he liked to practice them every day, was that Father hosted a huge party/meeting for Voldemort's Death Eaters every month. It was always held on the first floor, partly so that Draco wouldn't be able to listen in from his bedroom. Draco, predictably (knowing his father), was never allowed to join in. Every time he asked permission to attend, respectfully of course, Father's reply was, 'not yet,' and every time he asked why (again, respectfully), he always answered, 'for your protection, Draco.' Draco found that rather demeaning. After all, he was sixteen years old! What was Father afraid of? His Father had escaped from Azkaban only two weeks ago and was now hiding in the manor, safe for the present. Surely Draco could do the same if he were caught?

He turned away from the mirror, only to flop down onto his bed and pull another one out of his pocket. But this small hand mirror was not so ordinary. He paused, as if considering something, and slowly, in his usual drawl, spoke four words.

"Show me Narcissa Malfoy."

The surface of the mirror rippled, as if it were boiling water; then it suddenly became smooth once again and cracked, seeming all at once like ice. When it finally cleared, the image of a fragile woman lying on a bed of white sheets (they were those awfully uncomfortable hospital sheets), became visible. Draco's mother was very ill. She was dying, and no one could cure her, because no one knew of the sickness she had. This saddened Draco immensely, for he loved his Mother dearly, despite her negative views on the Dark Lord. She did her best to make his life as easy as possible under the circumstances of their lives, and it had worked, at least partially. From the fastest racing broom to a gold cauldron studded with Rubies and Emeralds, his mother had given him everything he desired. But Narcissa Malfoy was very different from Lucius. His father thought that Draco should earn what he deserved, which, at the present, was dirt. The reason for this was a recent fight they had had. He stared sadly at the mirror a moment more, before touching it lightly with his wand. The surface shimmered slightly and Draco's face stared back at him in place of his mother's.

Draco had never been to a Death Eater's meeting, never seen anyone die... until the end of his fifth year. Father had taught him to Apparate at an early age, and Draco, wanting to see Father fight, to see the Dark Lord triumph over and finally kill Harry Potter, he did just that. Draco Apparated to the old telephone box that was the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, and reached the room in the Department of Mysteries where the Prophecies were kept (after some trial and error).

__

Draco arrived in the room where the Prophecies were kept. He wanted to help, wanted to watch his father fight bravely with the Death Eaters.

But when he saw the fighting, it didn't seem so grand as it had in his dreams, and when his father had described it. He couldn't see Father. Draco had no doubt he was there somewhere... and then he saw Albus Dumbledore. Everyone had stopped fighting to watch Dumbledore and Voldemort duel.

No, _Draco thought desperately. _Where is my Father? _He backed into the shadows, and noticed that two people were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Draco recognized Bellatrix Lestrange, who had recently broken out of Azkaban along with nine other Death Eaters, and Sirius Black. He knew that Sirius was innocent, Father had made sure of that._

Black ducked a jet of red light from Mrs. Lestrange; he was laughing at her. It made Draco's blood boil. Laughing at Bellatrix Lestrange, who had learned the Dark Arts from Voldemort himself, was Voldemort's most loyal servant... and then it happened. The next jet of light hit Black squarely in the chest. Draco turned and saw Potter, who had just let go of Longbottom. Longbottom's legs were jerking and twitching in a sort of quickstep. Harry started towards Sirius, but Draco turned his eyes away from the sight. He had a horrible feeling in his chest.

I just watched someone die.

__

Finding a sort of pity in his cold heart that he never knew was there, Draco strode over to Longbottom (who stared at him fearfully), and muttered, "Finite Incantatem." Neville was shaking from exhaustion, and his wrist looked broken, so Draco helped him into a shadowy corner where no one would be able to see him.

He hissed, "Breathe one word to anyone_ that I helped you, and I will personally make sure you regret it."_

Then Draco left, sincerely hoping Father had not seen him.

But Father _had_ seen him, and as soon as he was home for the summer he took the opportunity to lecture his only child. He had tried to defend himself, but to no avail; Father was adamant. Draco had ended up stomping off to his room. He often did that when things got out of hand in the house. As a rule his bedroom was a haven, an oasis in the middle of a desert.

As much as he loved his bedroom, he _hated_ being cooped up in it for twenty-four hours or more while Death Eaters were discussing _important_ things downstairs. However, Draco knew that if he were caught trying to listen in he would be severely punished. His Father had other ways of detecting someone sneaking around than just by seeing them, or he would have taken the chance of being caught well before now. As it was, he had to spend hours at a time in that one room; the only pleasure he found in it was being able to sit out on his balcony and watch the sun set.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco Malfoy did have a heart, as did his Father and Mother. Especially his Mother. But they had to work hard to hide it; working for the Dark Side wasn't a picnic. You had to keep up the impression that you were a cruel, heartless person with no mercy so that others would obey you, or else it was you who had to obey others. That was just how life went (at least to the extent of Draco's experience). Anyone who thought otherwise was an idealistic idiot who put happiness, which was only temporary, before power and wealth, which was the only thing that lasted, if you were careful with it.

It would be Harry's birthday in exactly two weeks, but he wasn't looking forward to it. He knew, of course, that he would receive presents from Ron and Hermione. It didn't much matter to him any more. He just wanted to leave Privet Drive, as he felt totally cut of from the Wizarding World. The _Daily Prophet_ was the only source of information he got (Ron and Hermione's letters never said anything useful). It was reporting at least one death weekly now, and Harry had a hunch that if the Ministry didn't take more direct action, weekly would become daily. Fudge still hesitated over advice Dumbledore gave him before taking it.

Another thought was hovering around in Harry's mind, one that disturbed him almost as much as the deaths reported in the _Daily Prophet._ It was Ron and Hermione. Harry knew he had absolutely no reason to be angry with them, but their letters were just repeats of last year: "You know we can't say much here..." "You'll be here soon, we don't know exactly when...." Things like that. It wasn't that he didn't want Ron and Hermione as friends anymore, but they just didn't seem like the same people. Or maybe it was he who had changed.

He felt alone, more alone than he had even before he discovered that he was a wizard. Sirius was gone; he had no parents, and no friends that he felt he could talk to anymore. Harry was hoping that once he was back at Number Twelve these feelings would dissipate.

He had a feeling they wouldn't.

Sirius. Harry couldn't talk to anyone about _that,_ either. No one had actually seen him die, watched the look of shock on his face as he fell.

He struggled against sleep. Uncle Vernon had suddenly decided to have him clean the whole house last night, muttering that Harry could do his fair share of housework, whatever 'those weirdos' might think (meaning Moody, Tonks, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and everyone else that had told the Dursleys not to mistreat Harry or they'd have _them_ to answer to). He couldn't really argue with that, but to completely ignore him for a month and then suddenly heap a ton of work onto him was certainly odd. And it wasn't just a normal house-cleaning, either. His Uncle had made him vacuum every bit of floor, dust every single tiny cobweb, and remove every speck of dirt from the house. It was a bit annoying, but Harry wasn't about to complain to Lupin (to whom he was writing daily) that his Aunt and Uncle had given him _one_ day's worth of hard work after ignoring him for the whole summer.

Harry never wanted to fall asleep anymore. Every night he had horrible dreams of Death Eaters, them killing and torturing wizards and muggles alike, and Voldemort. But he hadn't slept in two days, and despite his best efforts, Harry slipped slowly into unconsciousness.

Tonight his dream was different. It wasn't he watching others be slowly tortured and murdered. This time, it was him who was in agony.

__

The pain was excruciating. Harry couldn't help it; he screamed in agony. Then he heard laughing. Forcing himself to look up, Harry saw the person he had least wanted to see, and yet the person he had most expected. Voldemort.

"Yes, Potter. It hurts, doesn't it? Now you will feel what I have had to feel for the past fifteen years. Despair."

Panting with exhaustion, Harry nevertheless stood up and faced his attacker. "You may be able to kill me," he said, more bravely than he felt, "but Dumbledore will stop you." Voldemort only laughed harder, and called into the darkness, "Bring him out!"

"Yes, my Lord," answered a voice Harry recognized as Lucius Malfoy. He walked slowly into the center of the room, dragging something. It took Harry a moment to realize what it was.

"Dumbledore!" he screamed. The Headmaster was unconscious, and lay sprawled on the floor where Malfoy left him. Lucius retreated into a corner of the room.

"He won't be alive to stop me," Voldemort spat venomously. He raised his wand, pointing it at Dumbledore.

In the back of the room, the door swung open with a crash. Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.

"Harry!" he yelled.

"Avada Kedavra!" A flash of green light was streaking towards Dumbledore. In less than a second he would be dead....

"NOOOOOO!"

Harry woke up drenched in cold sweat. The blankets had been kicked completely off the bed, and Hedwig was screeching loudly. Within seconds he could hear feet thundering up the stairs. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia arrived at his bedroom door.

"What the ruddy heck is going on here, boy?" Vernon yelled. He was fuming.

"Nothing. Just–just a nightmare."

"NIGHTMARE?" roared Vernon. "You woke up the entire _neighborhood_ because you had a nightmare?"

"Er... yeah," Harry replied uncomfortably.

"Well I'll tell you one thing, boy, if you don't get your _nightmare_ under control, I might just forget what those, those _freaks_ said to me." With that he stomped back down the stairs, Aunt Petunia close behind him. Harry was left to flop back down onto his bed and stare at the ceiling in frustration.

Father had heard rumor that the Ministry was again searching for him, and had gone into hiding, Draco knew not where. As Mother was at St. Mungo's, Draco was supposedly staying with a relative. In reality he was doing no such thing. He had insisted on staying here by himself. Despite Father's yelling and ordering him to go, Draco had managed stand his ground. After all, he had argued, lying low at his house was extremely easy; there were plenty of house elves to do the work and _hundreds _of places to hide.

Draco's hand traveled along the shelf as he sought for a book to help him pass the time. His hand wavered above _Mastering the Unforgivable Curses_ by Lucius Malfoy, but moved on. None of his favorite books seemed worth even looking at today! He sighed, frustrated, and finally pulled _Moste Potente Potions _off the shelf...

...and stopped. Memories came flooding back to him. Draco dropped the book in his hand; it hit the floor with a dull thud as Draco lunged for the bookcase. He yanked a few more books off of the shelf, and pulled out what was hidden behind them. A box.

It wasn't anything like the expensive gold, silver, wooden, and glass trunks and boxes that he owned. A grubby package made of cardboard, it seemed horribly out of place in that grand room. Draco opened it. His fingers were trembling and he looked fearful as he eased open an end of the box. He let the content of it slide out and fall without a sound onto his bed.

A book. A _muggle_ book. He had been only a boy when he found it in the street, on one of the few occasions when he entered the muggle world. Draco had felt sorry for it, and taken it. He knew his father would not have approved. So he kept it hidden night and day, and had, over time, forgotten about it.

Draco wondered to himself what it would be like to read a muggle book, whether it would be that much different than what wizards wrote about. It couldn't be _dangerous_ to use muggle things, could it? Could doing so slowly take away his magical power? Draco realized he didn't know very much about muggles.

He looked at the title. _Walk Two Moons. _Slowly, he turned to the first page and began reading....

Harry paced around his bedroom in exasperation. It had been a whole _day_ since he had written to Remus. Why had he not replied yet? Even after such a long time the dream was still fresh in his mind, keeping him on edge. Normally, Harry would never even have thought of writing anyone a letter anymore. This dream had unnerved him a little too much to be ignored. If they lost Dumbledore... Voldemort might as well have already won. That was what Harry believed, even if he wasn't on the best of terms with the headmaster.

Strangely, Harry had felt no pain in his scar after he woke up, as was usual when having a dream concerning Voldemort. The absence of pain was almost frightening in itself.

And Malfoy had been in his dream. This was what confused Harry the most. Malfoy? A friend? After all, he had called him 'Harry.' Maybe his dream had been just that, a dream, and Harry was bothering everyone with a whole lot of nothing.

Harry heard someone moving downstairs.

__

Relax! he thought. _It's just Dudley getting a huge slab of cake, as usual._

Then he remembered that Dudley was in jail.

Harry could hear them slowly ascending the stairs, drawing nearer to his room. He lay down on his bed, pretending to be asleep, and slowly slipped his wand out of his pocket. The door creaked open, and he stiffened.

"Harry?" a familiar voice whispered.

"Remus! Are we going to-"

"Yes. Pack your things."

"No!" Draco screamed at the mirror. In this mirror a reflection of himself, red-eyed with tears streaming down his face, was screaming silently back. It slid out of Draco's hands, falling with a thud on the floor. 

"She's not dead! Did you hear me? She's not dead!" Draco tried to yell, but the words came out as no more than a harsh croak. He turned away, ashamed, and threw himself on his bed. Draco pounded the pillows uselessly.

Draco had looked into his hand mirror as usual, to check on his mother. Her image appeared. There was a man next to her, listening to her. It was Albus Dumbledore.

Draco tried to listen to what his mother was saying.

"-at the Manor," she gasped. "Now, Albus, you must find him. Tell him I love him, and that this is what I believe is best. I wish I could tell Draco myself."

There was a sadness in Dumbledore's eyes that Draco had rarely seen there before.

"Goodbye, dear Narcissa. You have been a true friend."

Mrs. Malfoy closed her eyes slowly, and a look of peace came over her face. Wherever she was, clearly she was no longer in that room. The mirrors image faded, showing only a reflection of himself.

He didn't think once about Narcissa's words to Dumbledore, revealing Draco's whereabouts. This was why he had not made any motion to leave when, about an hour later, Professor Dumbledore entered the room. He surveyed Draco's tearstained face, the mirror on the floor, and the Dark Arts books lining the shelves.

"I am afraid, Mister Malfoy, that you must come with me," he said solemnly.

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A/N: Well, what did you think? Reviews would be appreciated, if you have the time!


	2. Return to Number Twelve

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CHAPTER TWO

RETURN TO NUMBER TWELVE

Draco knew fully well that he could not get the better of Dumbledore in a duel. If any other wizard had come for him, he would have attempted escape. He was sure Dumbledore would not allow that to happen.

They left the Malfoy Manor, the Professor leading and Draco trailing slightly behind. Dumbledore had banished his school things somewhere with a wave of his wand. 

"I believe, Draco, that you know how to apparate." It was not a question.

"To where?"

Wordlessly, Dumbledore turned and pulled up the left sleeve of Draco's robes. There were old scars there, from when Lucius had lost his temper because Potter had beat him in his first Quidditch match.

But no Dark Mark.

He lowered his eyes, grateful now that Father had not seen fit to let him join the Death Eaters.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts handed Draco Malfoy a worn-looking bit of parchment, with a bit of narrow, loopy handwriting on it.

"Memorize this, but do not repeat any of it out loud," he cautioned.

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The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

* * *

They had apparated in front of a battered, dark house with dark windows. The door knocker was in the form of a serpent that Draco found he rather liked. On either side were muggle houses. He sneered at them in contempt.

Professor Dumbledore took a firm hold on Draco's arm and led him up the stone steps.

The Headmaster pulled out his wand and tapped once on the doorknob. Draco thought he heard numerous metallic clicks and a sound disturbingly like the clinking of rusty chains. Reluctantly, the door creaked open and grudgingly let them inside.

They entered a gloomy looking room with old fashioned gas lamps, which gave off a flickering light.

Draco was led up a long, gloomy hallway. There were countless doors leading off somewhere, but they stuck to the main hall for about five minutes. Draco longed to throw one open, to run in and hide and never have to see Dumbledore again. He managed not to, telling himself he was just being foolish; it was impossible to escape with the Headmaster right next to him.

__

I just have to wait. Just wait... then I can escape.

They had entered a plain-looking room. On one side was a shelf teeming with books, the other three were ordinary walls.

"Sit down, Draco." Dumbledore indicated to a comfortable bed. Draco, however, thought it seemed too small to be at all suitable. He sat down politely.

"You have heard of the death of your mother," began the Headmaster, seating himself in the armchair he had conjured moments earlier.

Draco leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands so that Dumbledore would not see him cry.

"Yes." His voice caught in his throat. He sneered at himself. This _wasn't_ acceptable.

"She was a remarkable person. I had the good fortune to speak with her before she died." They lapsed into silence for a while. Draco took this time to get his tears under control.

"She asked me to see that you were taken care of."

"She shouldn't have," Draco, muttered, feeling a sudden burst of rage at his dead mother.

"Really?" Dumbledore inquired mildly. "I was under the impression that it was an excellent decision, all things considered."

"Everything was fine! My father _is_ out there. He would have made sure nothing happened to me. I have relatives, friends, house elves, and more money that than I need!"

Dumbledore sighed. "I must tell you that it is very likely Lucius will be caught a second time by the Ministry. In the event that they do, he will be killed.

"Azkaban is no longer safe to keep Dark Wizards in. You _must_ understand that this is the only way we can think of. Fudge has decreed that all Death Eaters are to be executed."

His jaw went slack. Tears ran down his face, and he no longer tried to hide them. "So, why don't you just kill me as well? I'll probably just grow up to be another Death Eater, won't I? But I suppose that's _beneath_ your morals.

"You are an underage wizard, and not a Death Eater. There is still time for you to make up your own mind."

He laughed derisively. His decision was made; had been made since the day he found out what a Death Eater _was._

"Fudge was going to have you sent to an orphanage when I consulted him after I left St. Mungo's. I convinced him you were safer here with myself and the Order."

__

Orphanage. The word echoed inside his head. Suddenly, Draco remembered all the times he had taunted Potter about having no family. Now he himself was in the same position. He felt sick.

"What do you mean, _'safer?'"_ he asked numbly, not really interested in the answer.

Dumbledore looked surprised (for once, Draco thought cynically.)

"Didn't you know why your mother died? That you were part of the reason?"

"Of _course, _that's why I'm asking about all of this!" His voice was filled with sarcasm.

Dumbledore chose to ignore it. "Your mother has always hated the Dark Arts. Just over a year ago, she became a problem for Voldemort. That is, she gave me some key information about the Dark Lord's activity.

"Voldemort himself warned her not to do it again, but she did not listen." He paused. "She was poisoned by your father on Voldemort's command."

He screamed.

* * *

Five minutes later, Harry was writing a note to the Dursleys, explaining that Lupin had come to take him somewhere for the rest of the summer.

__

Not that they care, Harry thought sardonically.

"Ready?" Lupin asked.

"Yeah."

Lupin carried Harry's trunk out the door. The knight Bus was outside waiting for both of them to get on.

"'Ey! Look, Ern! It's 'Arry Potter!" Stan yelled excitedly.

"Shh..." Lupin motioned towards the Dursleys' house.

"Er-right," Stan whispered apologetically.

The trip was not as exciting as his last experience on the Knight Bus had been. There were two stops before the bus lurched to a halt in front of Number Eleven. Lupin put his arm around Harry, grabbed the baggage and dragged them both off.

"Bye, 'Arry!" He waved wearily back to Stan, and the bus disappeared with a loud bang.

Harry didn't need to be told what to do. He thought as hard as he could about Grimmauld place, and it appeared, pushing the other houses aside. When Harry saw it, all the questions that had been forming in his mind dissipated as a wave of sadness washed over him. He was standing in front of his Godfather's house, and Sirius wouldn't be there. Harry felt hot tears stinging his eyes and threatening to spill over.

Lupin, sensing this, led Harry towards it. "Lets go."

As the door opened, Harry heard the portrait of Mrs. Black screeching.

"RATS! MUDBLOODS! BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! BE GONE FROM THIS PLACE, ALL OF YOU!"

"SHUT HER UP!" Lupin yelled. Harry was getting a headache.

By the time Sirius' mother was calmed down, Mrs. Weasley, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione and Ginny were all telling him how wonderful it was that he was here, and how much they had missed him. 

Harry was drawn to someone standing in the background, looking hesitantly at him but making no move to get any closer. He shrank back from Mrs. Weasley's hugs, squeezing through everyone to get to them.

"Hullo, Percy."

Percy looked startled, even a bit afraid of Harry. Staring at the ground, he said, "I owe you an apology. I said some things that I probably shouldn't have. I'm sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Harry thought about all the horrible things Percy had said to him, about how he had treated Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. The letter he had sent to Ron upon discovering that he was a prefect. Despite all those things, he knew there could only be one answer.

"Of course."

Vaguely the fact registered that Molly was crying. Though he knew it was for far different reasons than he had been a moment ago, he did not wish to see anyone cry. "I'm... kind of tired. I think I'll go to bed."

"Of course. You must be exhausted! I'll have your things brought up right away," Molly said.

"No... I'll get them later." With that, Harry climbed up the hall before anyone could speak again.

He knew where his room was, but detoured left on impulse and found himself in Sirius's bedroom. It seemed the same as the last time he had seen it, although it was gathering a bit of dust. It looked as if no one could bear to clean it out. For the second time that day, Harry felt like crying.

He sat down on the dusty bed. "Sirius," he said, as if his Godfather could really hear him. He was getting drowsier every minute. Finally, he gave in to sleep.

* * *

Molly Weasley was worried about Harry. He wasn't in the boys' room when she had brought his trunk up, and it had been nearly four hours since he had gone up. If anything had happened to him....

She noticed that Sirius's bedroom door was open, and went to shut it, tears coming to her eyes. The poor man had died right before he was cleared of his charge of betraying the Potters and killing Peter Pettigrew. She wished now that she hadn't been so hard on him at times, but it was too late for that.

Mrs. Weasley sighed in relief as she spotted the figure on Black's old bed. It was Harry. Well, at least she could inform everyone that he was safe, and tell Ron and Hermione to leave him alone.

* * *

"Liar! Liar! I hate you!"

"Draco, you may yell as much as you like after I have finished. I assure you I will stay and listen to all of it if you wish me to."

Draco slowly quieted down, silently vowing that he _would_ pick it back up after the Professor was done.

"Another reason Voldemort killed your mother, had wanted to kill her for years, was that if she were to have any more children, they might have the same extraordinary talents that you possess."

"Talents?" Draco thought he might know what Dumbledore was talking about, but wanted to find out for sure.

The Professor offered Draco a cup of tea that had appeared in his hand moments ago. He took a sip without thinking.

"Tell me, Mister Malfoy, can you do any sort of magic without a wand?"

He had intended to lie, really, but found that he couldn't control his words.

"Yes."

__

Veritaserum! That conniving old bastard.

"What sort of things?"

"I can become invisible, perform Occlumency and Legilimency."

"Then you have not even begun to access your power." The Headmaster paused, deciding that perhaps he would give Draco a _bit_ more information than he had intended to.

"Voldemort will not allow someone with your kind of power to exist. Loyal to him or not, he wants to destroy everything and everyone more powerful than he is. Death Eaters will be looking for you. Whether or not you accept it, you will never be a one yourself.

"So, you have two choices. You may either join us and be instructed in the use of your power, or you can die at the hands of Voldemort." After a moment of thought, he added, "I expect the Veritaserum will have worn off by now."

Draco was so angry, he wanted to kill Dumbledore. Kill him, and leave his body for his followers to find. Then they would know how foolish they had been to follow a crazy old man to their deaths. He stared at the ground, knowing how stupid such a thing was. He didn't have that kind of power.

"You do. You just don't know how to use it yet."

Draco stared at Dumbledore. "I'll join you," he said suddenly.

The Headmaster of Hogwarts smiled sadly. "No lies." Then he left Draco to yell and scream alone.

* * *

Harry awoke covered in sweat, his scar burning. Another nightmare. He was regretting not listening more closely to Snape's Occlumency lessons; he should've tried harder to do what had been asked of him. This year, hopefully, Dumbledore himself would continue them.

Sleep was not longer an option. Harry already knew what his dreams would be like, and he was not eager to return to them. He found himself feeling alone. There was no one, not Hermione, not Lupin, or even Ron, that he felt close enough to, to talk to right now. He had lost his Godfather because of his own stupidity. The person that he felt _could_ have made him feel better, and the person that was the cause of his sadness. He laughed.

__

That's definately ironic.

Harry shuddered, and pulled himself up off of Sirius' bed. He slipped quietly out the door. As long as he was awake, he might as well leave the place people dreamed.

Those horrible dreams.

He had intended to go to the kitchens- where else?

__

I'm not hungry.

Instead he wandered through the halls, passing rooms in which he knew members of the Order were sleeping.

Once he felt that he was safely past the bedrooms, Harry began to open doors. The first room was large, and contained hundreds of mirrors of all shapes and sizes. They even covered the ceiling and parts of the floor. It was eerie to see yourself staring back at you wherever you were, and even eerier because Harry swore that out of the corner of his eye, he could see faces besides his own in the glass. Whenever he tried to get a closer look, of course, nothing was there.

Harry was ready to leave after a minute or so, feeling rather shaky. He hesitated, but grabbed a small hand mirror and put it in the pocket of his robes. Harry turned to the door across the hall.

The wall on his side of the room was covered in books from ceiling to floor. Opposite him, it was blank and white. Sitting on a bed large enough for two people and wearing an expression of utmost loathing was Draco Malfoy.

"Come to have a nice gloat, Potter?" he sneered sulkily.

Harry was so shocked that he forgot to reply with an insult. "I didn't know anyone was in here," he said truthfully.

"Ah, just wandering around from room to room. It doesn't surprise me, Potter. You always had to stick your nose where it doesn't belong. And what about the famous invisibility cloak? You need that, to be safe. Can't let Voldemort catch you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

__

How does he know about my cloak? he can't know.

"I'm not stupid, Potter," Draco sneered. "Remember our third year? I know exactly what I saw at the Shrieking Shack. You're out at night all the time in that stupid thing."

"You're just jealous," Harry shot back.

__

"Jealous?" Draco smirked. "I don't _need_ an invisibility cloak. Comes in handy though, doesn't it?" A bitter look crossed his face. "Unfortunately, it can't always save you."

Harry was growing increasingly confused, and didn't see where this conversation could be leading.

"Why do you care if I have it or not? If you're trying to say that Voldemort is going to pop in here and grab me, you're wrong. I'm perfectly safe."

Draco laughed hoarsely. "You think you're safe here? With all you've been through, I assumed you would have learned something by now. You're _never_ safe. I thought I was. That's the reason I'm here now. No matter where you are, there's always a chance, however, small, that you'll be captured by the enemy."

Harry glared at Malfoy in silence, which seemed to make him realize who he was talking to.

"Go away, Potter," he snarled. "I don't want you here."

Harry turned to leave.

"Potter?"

"What, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his hand on the doorknob.

"Promise," there was a pleading edge to his voice, "that you won't tell Weasley or Granger I'm here."

"Why? Why should I promise you _anything_ when all you've ever done was torment my friends and I? You're my _enemy,_ Malfoy. Why should I promise you something that will only make Ron and Hermione feel hurt when they find out?"

His gray eyes seemed to stare right into Harry's soul. "Because... you feel like no one understands how you feel. You feel like it was your fault. I offered to be your friend once, and I still could be. If you let me.

"I saw him die, you know. My mum practically grew up with him; he was her favorite cousin."

Harry was shaking. "I have to go. And... I promise, at least for now."

He left.

* * *

__

Harry was again wandering the Black house alone at midnight. Again he entered the room of mirrors, struggling to see clearly the others that he knew were there. Always he was looking, looking but never seeing.

After what seemed like hours, Harry felt he was going mad. He knew that he must see something before he could leave, of course. That was the reason he had come here. Where was it? It would tell him what he should do. He had to know; the future depended on it.

Gradually his reflection faded. Moments later it returned, but... it had it's arm around someone else's shoulder. 

Draco Malfoy's.

Malfoy was smirking, but Harry thought it had a rueful, well-I-did-this-to-myself edge to it.

Harry felt no horror, only a sudden understanding. It was then that he left, entering the next room without hesitation.

Again Harry exchanged cruel words with Malfoy. For the second time Draco sneered, saying: "Go away, Potter. I don't want you here." The words hurt this time, stinging like a thousand needles being pressed gradually into his skin.

"Don't tell Weasel of Granger...." Malfoy's voice faded away as the room disappeared.

Harry was in a dark, cold room. At first it was unrecognizable, but Harry slowly noticed desks throughout the center of the classroom. Harry himself was sitting on one. Shelves on the walls were filled with numerous pickled things. Harry didn't want to think about what they could be.

He was in Snape's dungeon, waiting. A door crashed open, making him jump out of his skin. 

"Jumpy, aren't we?" Draco's normally cruel, sarcastic voice had a note of humor in it, coupled with something else that made him seem human compared to his usual behavior towards Harry. Harry was surprised to find himself smiling. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean. And are you late for class, Draco? Surely the teacher should arrive early...."

When he woke up, he had not memory of his dream.

* * *

Harry awoke with a single thought in his mind: he had to talk to Lupin.

He was almost dressed when Ron woke up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Wha' smatter, 'Arry?" he looked too sleepy to really care. Harry felt a surge of irritation at his best friend. Malfoy showed more concern than that, even if he _was_ faking it.

"It's nothing, Ron. Go back to sleep."

"I haven't seen you in a while, Harry. I'll get up now."

"Take your time." Harry tied his sneakers and steeped out of the bedroom door, being exceptionally quiet so as not to wake anyone. He made his way down to the kitchen.

"Hello, Harry dear. Breakfast isn't quite ready yet, but if you give me about ten minutes, the French Toast will be done."

Harry thanked her politely and asked if he could help, but she refused. "You had a tiring trip last night. There'll be work enough later, I'm sure."

"Is Remus here?" Harry asked.

"He's been out all night, but we're expecting him back any minute..."

"Oh. I'll just wait here, then."

"Was there something you wanted to ask him about?"

"Well, it's just..." Harry didn't have time to finish, because at that very moment Lupin walked in the door."

"There you are, Remus. Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes."

"It smells wonderful, Molly."

He waited until Lupin had seated himself at the table next to Harry, and muttered, "I need to ask you about something."

"All right," Remus said. "Fire away."

"Last night... I couldn't sleep, so I decided to wander around a bit. I opened a door, and- someone was inside." Harry conveniently forgot to mention the fact that he had been in _another_ room first.

"Malfoy," Lupin breathed, looking displeased. "I had hoped you'd never find out that he was there."

"I was just wondering _why,_ that's all." He had the feeling that Lupin wasn't going to tell him.

"I can't tell you that, and I don't want you to go back there, Harry.. It could be dangerous."

"Dangerous?" asked Harry incredulously. "Malfoy isn't what I call dangerous. I've managed to escape _Voldemort_ five times now, what could possibly be worse than that?"

"If Draco was Voldemort, you wouldn't go visiting him, now would you?" Lupin smiled wryly. "You're just going to have to trust me on this."

Harry scowled, "I might, if you would just tell me what it's all about."

"I _can't. _What I will say, is that you need to be a bit more careful around Malfoy from now on."

****

I want to than all you WUNNNNDERFUL peoples that reviewed! (HINT TO ALL WHO READ THIS) and I'm sure Hairless would too... *coughlazyonecough* But can you believe that there are over six pages of this in Microsoft Word, and she only write ONE of them????

Thanks to:

Morgoth: must agree with you, person!

dark abaddon: review more of mine, I'll review more of yours!

audig: Yes, Draco is VERY conflicted. I'll straighten him out, though... *laughs evilly*

Someone: Thank you. I DID try my hardest...

Dancer891234567789: Well, I updated! (What is UP with that name?!)


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